


But, How Dead Is He?

by Ellynne



Series: Rumple's New Mirror [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 08:22:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11802171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellynne/pseuds/Ellynne
Summary: Sirius Black has a visitor in Azkaban with a rather strange question.





	But, How Dead Is He?

Sirius Black was lying in his cell in Azkaban doing the same thing he did every day, feeling guilty, miserable, and just a touch insane.  Over and over again, he thought about the terrible events of that night and how they were all his fault. 

Or he tried to.  Honestly, it was hard to get any decent brooding in when all of your neighbors kept moaning and screaming.  As if any of _them_ had problems.  At least, _they_ got thrown in here for things they’d _done._   Sirius had just been an idiot, a complete, unmitigated, gullible idiot.

He was going over everything he’d done wrong (again) when he noticed the moaning was beginning to die away.  There was a strange, eerie sound echoing down the prison’s halls, coming towards them, a sound Sirius was certain had never been heard in Azkaban before.

Someone was whistling.  Cheerfully.  It took Sirius a moment to realize why it sounded familiar.  It was a Muggle tune, one Lily had sung now and then when she was trying to be annoying.  Sirius remembered the lyrics.

_This is the song that never ends_  
_It just goes on and on my friends_  
_Some people started singing it, not knowing what it was_  
_And they'll continue singing it forever just because_

__

_This is the song that never ends. . . ._

__

Sirius couldn’t imagine a representative from the Ministry whistling that.  It must be one of the prisoners, someone who’d gone completely mental and had managed to slip out of their cell only to wander up and down the prison as if they were back at school at Hogwarts.  Of course, Bellatrix sometimes sang, usually songs like _Someday My Prince Will Come_ and _K-RA-ZY For You._ Once she got going, she could last for hours.  But, it was impossible to imagine her singing Lily’s song.  It had to be someone else.

__

As if to confirm his guess, Sirius felt the sudden, terrible chill that accompanied dementors wherever they went.  The faint light in the hallway died away entirely as they swooped by, bent on recapturing—or devouring—the unfortunate whistler.

__

There were a couple of blasts of light and the roar of distant thunder.  Light reappeared in the hallway.  Sirius saw a couple scraps of ghostly, gray cloth—the same color as dementor robes—float by.  A moment later, a man looked in Sirius’ cell.

__

Sirius stared.  He couldn’t help it.  The man looked like he might be some kind of Merman, with his green scales and lizard eyes, but he was also clearly walking on dry land.  His curly hair wasn’t even wet.

__

“Excuse me,” the man said. “Are you a. . . .” he checked a small notebook and frowned.  “. . . .Death Eater?  Seriously?  Couldn’t you come up with something better to call yourselves? Speaking as someone who deals in names, isn’t that a bit overdone?  Really, what _are_ we compensating for?” He looked Sirius over.  “Never mind, I think I can work that one out for myself.”

__

“I’m not a Death Eater.”

__

The Merman rolled his eyes.  “Look, I _know_ everyone in prison says it was some tragic miscarriage of justice.  But, I really _don’t_ care.  I’m not going to go tell tales to your Ministry.  I just need someone with a Dark Mark on their arm.”

__

“I haven’t got one.”

__

“Oh, haven’t you?” The Merman raised his hand and wiggled his claw-tipped fingers.  If he had a wand, Sirius couldn’t see it, but sparks of gold and purple suddenly sparked off the wiggling digits and onto Sirius’ arm.

__

“Hey!” he shouted, slapping at the sparks.  They felt like dozens of small bugs.

__

“You haven’t,” the Merman said.  He looked at the notebook again, then at the number over the cell.  “Aren’t you Sirius Black?”

__

“That would be me.”

__

“Mass murderer—excuse me, _accused_ mass murderer, back-stabber, and all-around twit?”

__

“Twit?  Who said I was a twit?”

__

“Letters to the editor.  Quite a few of the girls you dated in school wanted to tell the world they always knew you were a bad lot.  You dumped them, didn’t you?”

__

“Hey, I never said we were going steady or that I wasn’t seeing anyone else.  It’s not my fault they made assumptions.”

__

“Hmm, and such a _lot_ of them did.  Over and over again.  It’s _amazing_ how that kind of miscommunication keeps happening.”

__

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”

__

“You _have_ still got your left arm, haven’t you?  You didn’t, oh, I don’t know, get it sliced off and replaced with a hook or something?  You look the type, and it would explain what happened to your Mark.”

__

“I don’t HAVE a Mark, all right?” Sirius held up his hands and wiggled his own fingers.  “See?  All there.  What do you want with a Dark Mark, anyway?”

__

“I suppose you heard about the Dark Lord—and don’t get me going on what stupid name _that_ is—”

__

There were shouted protests from various cells.

__

“Oh, be quiet!” the Merman growled. “I’m trying to have a conversation, here!  The Dark Lord was recently blown to small, itty-bitty pieces—” More moans from the cells.  The Merman rolled his eyes.  “Excuse me! Talking!”  He snapped his fingers. The moans abruptly ceased.  “I’ve got them on mute.  As I was saying, he was blown to pieces.  Or so goes the tale.  I’ve been double checking.  The Dark Mark serves as a communication device—a primitive and melodramatic one, but I suppose it gets the job done. Your One-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—which, I suppose, is one way to deal with it if you don’t like what your parents called you or are afraid of it showing up in a police report—used it to contact his mindless minions—you don’t mind if I call you mindless, do you?”

__

“I’m not a minion.”

__

The Merman wagged a claw. “Ah-ah-ah! That was a rhetorical question. No answer required.  So, the Trying-Desperately-Not-To-Get-His-Name-On-A-Wanted-Poster-One can use the Dark Mark to contact his minions. That means a competent wizard—” He gave a flourishing bow, “—should be able to set up a feedback loop going the other way showing if there’s anyone left alive on that end.  If he is, I need to find him, turn him into a snail, and step on him.  If not, I promised my maid—she’s my employee, you understand.  Just my employee.  This is a completely proper employer-employee relationship.  Nothing else—I promised her we’d get some shopping done before heading home, and we might have high tea at Harrod’s.  We might also take in a show.  I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything about _The Phantom of the Opera,_ have you?  I’m really not sure what it’s about.”

__

“The what?  Sorry, the last Muggle show I saw was _The Empire Strikes Back_.”

__

“Oh, well, never mind.  I’ll get it sorted out.  You’re sure you don’t have a Mark?”

__

“Positive.”

__

“Too bad.  Do you know who would?”

__

“I’d try the LeStranges down the hall.”

__

“Right, then.  Well, have a good day.”

__

“Hold on,” Sirius said. “I don’t suppose you could get me out of here, could you?”

__

“Hmm. . . .  You don’t have a Dark Mark.  But, did you really not do anything to deserve being here?”

__

Sirius thought about the chain of events his “brilliant plan” had set in motion.  “Uh. . . .”

__

“That’s what I thought.” The Merman turned to go.

__

“Wait!” Sirius said. “That muting thing you did to turn off the screams.  I don’t suppose you could leave it on, could you?  All that moaning and groaning is pretty distracting.”

__

“Ah, prefer to brood over everything you’ve done wrong in peace, do you?  I understand.  You let strangers interrupt you and, next thing you know, they’re serving tea, taking down the curtains, and letting thieves out of your dungeon.  I can leave the spell up, but it will wear off over time.  You’ll be back to the All-Minion Scream-Along in a few weeks.”

__

“I’ll take it.”

__

The Merman shrugged.  “Suit yourself,” he said and wandered off.

__

_Strange fellow,_ Sirius thought.  That was assuming he’d been real.  The odds were much better Sirius was going as crazy everyone else hereand hallucinating magical Mermen wandering through the prison.

__

Oh, well, real or not, Sirius hoped he’d have a good time on his date tonight, which was what it obviously was.  You didn’t go out with every girl in Hogwarts (Cousin Bellatrix excepted) without learning what they called it if you took them to dinner and a show.

__

Meanwhile, hallucinating or not, Sirius decided to enjoy the silence and (finally!) brood in peace.

__

**Author's Note:**

> I realized I needed to show Rumple checking whether or not Voldemort was dead (his answer, by the way, is "Dead enough") while Belle is up to other things. However, I feel a bit guilty for leaving Sirius in Azkaban, even if he only would have gotten in the way of the plot. Sorry!
> 
> Also, some of you may know The Phantom of the Opera premiered in 1986 but Voldemort is generally assumed to have died in 1982. So, either it had a different premiere in Harry Potter's reality or Rumple is REALLY GOOD at getting IMPOSSIBLE TO FIND tickets. Besides, what other show would Rumple take Belle to?


End file.
